


LED

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22551226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Hank discovers another of Connor’s uses.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 161





	LED

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Technically speaking, Connor doesn’t _need_ to lie down when he powers down for the night—he could simply stand against a wall and stare blankly into the distance, but Hank says that’s _creepy_ , and Connor _likes_ snuggling under the covers of Hank’s bed. He likes curling up in Hank’s thick arms and burrowing into Hank’s pillow, catching whiffs of Hank’s sweat and shampoo. They close the curtains, turn the lights off, and it creates a special sort of mood that maybe an android shouldn’t be able to appreciate. But he does. He likes knowing Sumo’s asleep outside the door, protecting them in spirit, even if Connor’s actually stronger. But most importantly, he likes being with _Hank_. Maybe they don’t share sleep and certainly can’t share dreams, but it’s close enough. Connor closes his eyes, slows his thirium pump, and lets his systems slowly power down to the minimal thresholds. Hank should be sleeping behind him. 

Hank grunts through the darkness, “Why don’t you bleed red?”

“Hm?” Connor hums. At first, he thinks he might’ve heard wrong—a slight discrepancy due to being in between settings. Hank knows better than most what androids bleed.

“Why don’t they just dye thirium red? Couldn’t be too hard.”

Connor boosts his systems back up enough to process the answer and respond, “There is no official reason on record, but I would assume that humanizing androids further would make it uncomfortable for humans to buy and trade them as objects rather than sentient creatures.” Connor’s seen the reactions of his fellow cops to splatters of blue blood versus red blood. They tend to find thirium significantly less unsettling. Perhaps CyberLife kept that in mind, or perhaps internal colouring didn’t even occur to them. 

Just before Connor’s resumed shut down protocol, Hank asks, “What was your first encounter with a deviant like? You said you had one before we met...”

Frowning against Hank’s pillow, Connor recalls every little detail. It’s not a pleasant tale, though he believes he obtained the best solution possible. There simply wasn’t an _ideal_ one. He decides, “I’d rather not discuss it.”

Hank doesn’t press it. He asks instead, “What’s the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?”

Connor pauses. He halts his program, waits for an explanation, but doesn’t get one. He rolls over onto his other side, facing Hank, and notices that Hank has one of his old paperback books: a relic of the past that comes without built-in illumination. Connor prioritizes that over his curiosity. “You shouldn’t be reading in light this poor.”

“It’s not that poor when your temple’s flashing,” Hank grunts.

Suddenly, Connor understands. Hank was deliberately making him process things. Even that shouldn’t really be enough for Hank’s aging eyes. But there’s something vaguely _sweet_ about his boyfriend reading by him, so Connor lets it slide, at least for one night. 

Smiling fondly, he sets the blue light on repeat at the brightest setting. It flares across what little pillow lies between them, making Hank’s beard, chest, and book all glow. Connor murmurs, “Good night, Hank.”

He rolls onto his back, keeping his forehead at the optimal angle. Hank hums, “Good night, babe,” and resumes his story.


End file.
